Her Name Was Jana
by The Man Who Was Thursday
Summary: It's been years since Commander Shepard perished against the Reapers, but still very little is known about her, who she was, or what she was like. Anthony Everest, a reporter determined to learn more about this enigmatic woman, embarks on a personal crusade to discover the real Shepard. But in searching for her, he must also face his own past. A novelette.
1. Chapter 1

There is a large statue of a woman near the center of New Angeles. She is burdened under heavy armor but stands with such purpose that it seems light. Her weapon is resting on her shoulder, and her opposite hand is extended out to the onlookers below, nobly offering her assistance to the passersby. She glances at them and through them, face stern but warm, almost loving, frozen in time. Beneath her, the copper foundation bears the inscription:

Commander Shepard

2154 – 2186

"The bravest are surely those who have the clearest vision of what is before them, glory and danger alike, and yet notwithstanding, go out to meet it." - Thucydides

* * *

Anthony Everest fidgeted somewhat nervously at the far corner of the conference table, his nerves jittery due to the upcoming meeting and amplified by the unnatural amounts of caffeine he had ingested just moments before. His colleagues rocked back and forth on their swivel chairs like bobbed apples.

"This is fun," one of them said casually.

Anthony figured the management would probably replace those chairs with less distracting ones in the future. Productivity is the angry god to which all businesses must sacrifice.

Anthony found himself bouncing along with them, his blood nearly half coffee at this point. He tried to keep still but his hands shook. Too much coffee...

A serious man strode swiftly into the office, a stern smirk on his face and an expensive suit on his back. Cowlicked gray hair cast a slight shadow over his almost leather skin. "All right," he began, looking over the half dozen men and women at the table. "Our first meeting of the quarter. As you all know, the last half year has not been kind to us, as we've lagged behind the extra-world news outlets for some time now. I've called this meeting to solicit some story ideas to try to gain back some interest and some financial support from advertisers. We don't want another quarter like the last one. Now, I am going to turn it over to you. I want to hear some ideas, some brainstorms, whatever you have, on potential stories and pieces we could begin to uncover."

At first there was hesitation, but after one younger woman bravely volunteered a story idea, the room became a cacophony of talking, laughing, arguing, and pleading. Anthony bode his time. He had an idea, but knew he needed to pitch it properly or else it would get immediately consigned to the dust bin.

"We need to focus more on the debunking of myths aspect, I think," said one man. "That's our most compelling angle. Our investigative pieces over the last year have been our most successful—they've been shared, posted, and featured more than anything else. Some even were picked up for vid specials. If we do a column series that dispels popular and inaccurate notions about news, events, history, or whatever, that could build some momentum." He gestured to the well dressed man, asked, "Don't you think, Mr. Kenny?"

"I agree that this is our strongest selling point, but so far we've had a regrettable lack of ideas," stated Mr. Kenny flatly.

Here was Anthony's chance.

"I have one idea that would definitely get us attention." He gulped as everyone turned to look at him.

"I'm listening," said Mr. Kenny.

"We do a story about Commander Shepard. The angle could be trying to separate the fact from the legends."

There were some audible groans and eye rolling. Mr. Kenny, to his credit, did not respond so dismissively, but he was obviously skeptical. "Everyone and their dog has done an expose on the Commander. We have to set ourselves apart, not blend in with all the other news outlets."

"Wait, hear me out," pleaded Anthony as he leaned forward. "First, you're right, everyone has done a piece on her. But if you look at the ratings, viewership, and advertisement revenue from those programs, they trend towards the top of the pack. Three of the five most fiscally successful expose programs in the past two years have focused on the Commander."

"But we're reaching a saturation point," said Mr. Kenny. "You are right that those news pieces were well received, but there were a half dozen more high budget stories done on her that did not fare nearly as well this year. We're a news journal, not a vid series, as well. We can't afford to gamble on something that large. Besides, it's been fifteen years since she died, and the subject has been done to death. Commander Shepard is the most ubiquitous hero in the history of humanity. It would be almost impossible to come up with anything new to say about her. She's everywhere. Haven't you seen that giant statue outside the studio?"

"I agree that it would be tough, but here's the thing. I mean, look. I'm a historian, I love to study this stuff. And the degree of mythologizing that's gone on around Shepard seems almost unprecedented. She is arguably the most famous person in history, but how much do we really know about her? Everyone has heard the stories, everyone knows what she did. Most of the documentaries about her and about the Reaper War are about just that: her actions before and leading up to the war, but little else."

"I actually have wondered about her earlier life," offered a woman across the table in a surprising gesture of support.

Anthony felt bolder and continued, "I think we should focus on that. What was she like? What made her tick? What was her family life like? What about her personal life? We know all about her actions. But what about her thoughts, her feelings? What were her hopes and her dreams?"

"This could work," said Mr. Kenny, "but I am skeptical that this hasn't also been done to death."

Anthony shrugged, said, "Oddly enough, it hasn't. Most of the stories about her descend into almost comical hagiography. She is a hero, after all. But she isn't like other political or military heroes. She seems to me to occupy a place in the public consciousness more like Achilles or Spartacus than with other military heroes. Even her contemporaries, like David Anderson, languish in her shadow."

Mr. Kenny smirked to himself and looked down. He said, "Look, Anthony. I like this idea, I really do. But I'm not sure it will work. Remember, the crew of the _Normandy _don't do interviews anymore. Not since the last debacle with Earth News Report and their historically awful reporting. I doubt they'll bite. So, it's too much of a risk to commit our resources to right now."

Anthony grew defensive and tried to interject, "I don't think—"

"I'm sorry, Anthony. Perhaps later."

Anthony sank down into his chair, quietly letting air out of his mouth like a deflating balloon.

* * *

That evening Anthony sat at his desk and aimlessly searched through the extranet for other story ideas. He browsed along half-heartedly, without any real interest. To tell the truth, he could not even really remember what they had agreed on in the meeting. After Mr. Kenny shot his idea down he replayed the conversation over in his head, repeating it and twisting the dialogue so that he emerged the winner. When the meeting adjourned he smiled and nodded and then left. The last half hour was a blur.

He looked at a sheet with a few other story ideas listed. He had a line or two about the krogan expansion on a previously uninhabitable planet in the Kepler Verge. Another possibility was a piece on the increased use of old tech fuel as a psychotropic drug among poor Quarians. The last one was the almost nauseating popularity of some grotesque singer who had her image plastered all over the Earth, and how her recent album had gone triple platinum. Anthony had listened to it once and nearly retched. Sadly, he predicted, that would be the story he was have to pursue.

He looked up at the wall near his desk to see his framed degrees. There was a bachelor's, then a master's, but no further diplomas. He had been proud of them for a time, but now he felt like throwing them across the room. Or at least letting them ignobly rot inside the drawer of his desk. A lot of good they did, he thought to himself. All the pieces of paper had seemingly gotten him was a mountain of crushing debt and a lackluster job writing technical news articles and reporting with faux seriousness on the mind-numbing stupidity of popular culture.

He sighed, wishing for something else.

Tired of these options, he opened up a vid interview posted online. It was the infamous final interview with the _Normandy _crew. After its release three years prior, they all went dark. No interviews from any of them in the years since.

The interviewer was idiotic and offensive. Anthony did not blame the former crew of the _Normandy _from declining all specials in the time hence. He would have done the same. The woman doing the interview was a well known journalist and hot-shot in the field, despite being christened with the almost comically appropriate name of Barbara Lugdum. Her approach to journalism was to simply annoy the interviewee as much as possible, provoke a rise from them, and then showcase the controversial footage. The result was despairing mix between journalism and vapid entertainment—a particularly odious kind of reality television. What annoyed Anthony even more was that Barbara Lugdum was more famous and wealthier than he would ever be.

BARBARA LUGDUM: Did Commander Shepard grieve the deaths of her squad during the war?

ASHLEY WILLIAMS [_with visible irritation_]: Yes, of course. She felt it was up to her to save everyone. If someone died in battle, she interpreted it as a personal failure.

LUGDUM: Which death seemed to have affected her the most?

WILLIAMS: Why... I mean. Are you asking me to rate them?"

LUGDUM [_with forced sympathy_]: No, I mean, which crew member's death seems to have affected her the most? Did she process them differently?

WILLIAMS [_after a long pause_]: They all affected her deeply. Her grief was always obvious after it happened. Kaidan, Mordin, Thane, Legion. They all were difficult for her.

LUGDUM: Even Legion, the geth?

WILLIAMS: He was an ally, and a friend to her.

LUGDUM: But it was still a geth, surely she did not feel the same grief over its death as, say, Kaidan Alenko.

Ashley was about to get angry, but Anthony fast-forwarded the program. He had seen this clip before, Ashley had risen from her chair and stormed out of the room where she was being interviewed, muttering, "I'm done with this." It had made quite a splash. He didn't feel the need to see any more of that. He went back to the beginning of the interview to watch a separate part. Now the interviewee was another human soldier, named James Vega.

LUGDUM: I understand that it Commander Shepard who urged you to enroll in the N7 program.

JAMES VEGA: That's right.

LUGDUM: Did you ever feel any hesitation doing this, especially since she was killed shortly after?

VEGA: No. I'm a soldier. I know the risks. Shepard thought I should do it, and she was right.

Anthony fast-fowarded again, there was a more interesting section.

VEGA [_voice raising_]: What are you suggesting? That I should turn my back on the Alliance because she died?

LUGDUM: I only was curious if you doubted the Alliance and the N7 program after Shepard passed away.

VEGA [_angrily_]: Shepard died to save us. All of us. Me, her friends, everyone, even a [_expletive deleted_] like you. What difference does that make for whether I should stay in the Alliance or not?

Anthony sped ahead some more. James's outburst hadn't been as memorable as Ashley's, but it was interesting nonetheless. He was not sure if it was the reporter's incompetence that triggered their anger, or if it was their sensitivity about Shepard. Probably both, he concluded, but the idiocy they were putting up with certainly did not help.

He jumped ahead a little more, to the section with Garrus Vakarian. Garrus was a notorious hothead, but oddly enough he was one of the few not to get enraged on the program. At least, not visibly enraged.

The turian sat upright in his chair, his posture as intense as his mannerisms. But he spoke calmly and coolly.

LUGDUM: You had a reputation as a... as a less than...

GARRUS VAKARIAN [_interrupting_]: As a hothead.

LUGDUM: Your word, not mine.

VAKARIAN: Your words all the same. I've been called that for decades.

LUGDUM: So what has changed?

VAKARIAN: My age. I am older now. I have less tolerance for stupidity, but more patience for it.

LUGDUM: Did your experiences with Commander Shepard assist in your mellowing out at all?

VAKARIAN [_slowly_]: I suppose so.

LUGDUM: Nothing more?

VAKARIAN: No.

LUGDUM [_changing questions_]: Did you ever find it difficult, as a turian, to serve under the leadership of a human?

VAKARIAN [_bemused_]: You are wondering whether any turian could abide such a situation. It's a general question because you're more interested in stereotypes of us than an actual answer.

LUGDUM: I meant only-

VAKARIAN [_interrupting_]: You meant only what you said. I have two answers: most turians would have had an issue with it. I didn't.

LUGDUM: And you didn't because?

VAKARIAN: Because serving under Commander Shepard was not like serving anyone else. Regardless of species, we all would have followed her to the end of time. For someone conducting an interview on Shepard, you seem curiously ignorant of her reputation as a unifying presence.

It went on like this for some time. Garrus's words were more precise than the others, and his interview lasted the longest, but he seemed to prefer answering in generalities and twisting the questions around, rather than actually providing concrete answers. It was this habit that interested Anthony. As a soldier, Garrus was known as a sharpshooter, but now it seemed his most accurate weapon was his tongue rather than his rifle. And he was deft with it. Anthony was certain that because of Garrus the galaxy knew less about Shepard than it might otherwise. There was something about him, something he had hidden about Shepard. He could feel it.

The screen was paused, frozen on Garrus's face. Anthony studied his calm, taciturn expression. His small blue eyes pierced through the dark ambiance of the room and through the screen on which Anthony watched him. He was mesmerized, he felt like Garrus was glaring right at him. A silent threat for any reporter who tried to come after him.

He startled when his office door clicked and slid open. Glancing over his shoulder he saw Mr. Kenny himself standing there.

"Just about to head home," said Anthony, exiting the extranet and putting his devices at standby.

Mr. Kenny merely sat down in Anthony's sole guest chair. "Not able to let it go, huh?" he asked, gesturing at the vid screen and Garrus's face.

"No—I mean... Yes," said Anthony nervously. "I was just—"

"I'm sorry about earlier," Mr. Kenny interrupted.

"It's all right, Mr. Kenny," began Anthony.

"Please, call me Walter."

"All right."

"Look," said Walter, "I actually really like your idea. It's ambitious and it's interesting. I don't think it'll be a good starter but I'm prepared to admit to be wrong."

Anthony was a bit blind-sided. "You mean...?"

"Not exactly. We're not going forward with that project yet. But I do want to explore all our options. I'm prepared to let you go on your own a little bit, see what you can dig up on the Commander."

"Just by myself?"

"Yes," said Walter flatly. "You're a bright guy. We all know where you went to school. You can do some research on your own. If you can find some promising avenues, let me know, and we'll start to put some momentum behind it. Maybe we'll do a story on it in the future."

"This is great," Anthony began gushing, "thank you! I want—"

"Calm down, son," said Walter. "I'm giving you a leash here, and it's a short one. We can't commit long term to something like this. Only if you can give some results."

"How much of a budget do I have?"

"Very little," Walter said. "In fact, think like you don't have a budget at all."

Anthony felt weight pushing down on him, gulped again. "I'll do my best, sir."

"Walter," said Walter.

"Right."

Walter Kenny stood up and extended his hand. They shook, and Walter said, "I look forward to seeing what you come up with."

"Where do you suggest I start?" asked Anthony.

"How should I know?"

This would be difficult.

* * *

Anthony walked outside in the brisk California evening. It was fall, so the weather was still warm, but when the sun set the temperature could drop with surprising rapidity. He slipped on his sweater and strode out into the quad between the studios and the tourist destinations. The city was a shambles after the war, but in the decade hence it had renamed and rebranded itself. Clean, new buildings extended for blocks. Remnants of the carnage of the war could still be found wherever one looked, but the city had rallied and become a beacon of the hope that pervaded after the Reapers had been vanquished.

All of it was owed to the figure who towered over the center of the new city square. Anthony walked quickly across the marble tile and soaked in the dreamy orange haze of the square's lights. He approached the statue and looked up at that face. Commander Shepard looked down at him, her hand extended out for him to reach. Her eyes, though leaden and unmoving, seemed to understand him. Unlike any other he had seen, the statue did not look through him, it looked at him.

He studied her expression and the hand that waited before him.

"Who were you?" he asked her.


	2. Chapter 2

**Thank you for the kind words from those of you who reviewed, as well as for the follows and alerts. I look forward to hearing from you. Now the plot is off the ground, so here we go!**

* * *

Anthony's early forays into research did not return good results. He thought reaching out to a number of Shepard's former crew directly might be a good idea at first, but it seemed that they were still holding to their unresponsive ways. He only heard back from one person, and, unfortunately, that one reply was from the infamous Jack, who told him in no uncertain terms to have sex with his mother, accompanied with a hologram of a hand holding up a middle finger.

He would have to pursue some different avenues. Traditional means would not be effective. He would need some luck and some craftiness for this to work. He had an idea, and so he concocted a ruse to get the interview he needed.

He sent and received a message from his _alma mater_, one of the few Ivy League universities to survive the Reaper War mostly intact.

_Dear Mr. Everest,_

_As an alumnus, your interest in our archives is welcome. We actually do have a copy of your undergraduate thesis stored away in the digital vault for the Firestone Memorial Library. However, if you need to access it, we ask that you travel personally to the library, as university rules and copyright issues prevent us from disseminated any academic work over the extranet. I know that this is not the answer you were looking for, but we welcome you to come visit us if you have the chance. _

_In addition, however, there will be an upcoming panel next month in New McCosh Hall on the subject of the Protheans and their religious culture. Several of the galaxy's foremost experts on the subject—including Dr. Liara T'Soni will be present. We can reserve a seat for you if you wish. Distinguished undergraduates such as yourself are always welcome._

_Sincerely,_

_Martha Anderton_

_Student Affairs_

_Princeton University_

On the contrary, Anthony mused to himself, that was exactly the answer he was looking for. He had no interest in his undergraduate thesis, though it did stoke a small measure of pride in him to know that it was still on record. Something of his had survived the war after all. But he was most interested in the presence of Dr. T'soni at the university. He would need to ambush her, but at least he had an in: he knew where she would be, and when. It was then up to his charisma to hoodwink her into an interview.

He reached out to the asari archeologist with the ruse. It took a while, but eventually he got a response, an email from a rather robotic sounding personal assistant. It read:

_Mr. Everest,_

_Dr. T'Soni has just returned from a long research trip in the Hades Gamma and has been out of contact for several weeks. However, she will be on Earth at Princeton University this coming month, participating in a panel on Prothean religion and culture. She has indicated she may be able to speak with you about your dissertation thesis after the panel. _

_Have a pleasant day,_

_G._

Whoever G was, he had a computer's sense for grammar and diction. But Anthony was ecstatic, finally an opportunity! He let Walter know and they approved his travel from New Angeles to New Jersey so he could make good on the arrangement.

* * *

It was cold outside, snow drifting down and dusting the Gothic architecture which comprised the stunningly beautiful Princeton campus. A strange melding of old world sensibilities and towering, modern architecture, the university managed to combine the beauty of both ancient and contemporary aesthetics. The city, small as it was, managed to survive most of the ravages of the Reaper War. Princeton had to be partially rebuilt, but parts of the old university remained intact. Among the Ivy League universities, it was almost unique in this regard. Her august compatriot universities in Cambridge and New Haven had not been so lucky.

Anthony waited in a delightfully antique watering hole, one which simulated Prohibition era furniture and ambiance. In addition to coffee, it served liquor and quality mixed drinks from a bygone time. The panel would start in about a half hour, just enough time for Anthony to quench his thirst.

He nursed a tumbler of Lagavulin no. 16, straight. He disliked ice in his whiskey. At this hour of day, there were not many people in the bar, so he passed the time thinking quietly to himself, researching the Protheans with a slightly distracted curiosity. A holographic fire crackled near him, emanating synthetic warmth and flickering orange light. It cast intriguing shadows on the rich mahogany furniture. He began to fiddle with his omni-tool and lost track of time until suddenly he jerked his head up to the old clock on the wall and noticed that the panel was about to begin.

He killed the rest of his drink in one go and made a beeline for the exit. He regretted having to drink a more expensive whiskey so fast, but he had to get moving.

He clutched his pea coat and scarf close in an effort to keep warm, the winter day besieging the university with wind and snow. Nevertheless, the campus was beautiful, and he could not help but admire its grandeur as he strode through the quad towards the New McCosh Hall. As a student, he had never tired of the buildings and the architecture. It stimulated scholastic feelings in him even now.

Across the quad, the New McCosh Hall stood out somewhat garishly. The old hall had been a beautiful building, but it was one of the unfortunates to perish in the war fifteen years prior. While most of the damaged university buildings had been restored to their previous state and appearance, an influential architect was brought in to redesign the hall, and Anthony honestly found it a rather poor substitute. Instead of the grandiose Gothic architecture of the old building, the new one had a bizarre array of glass panels and jagged edges, complete with holographic displays of the old building's towers. The whole thing looked out of place. And, even worse, it had an unfortunate tendency to dump snow from its slippery panes onto pedestrians in the winter.

He ducked inside and heard that the panel was beginning, so quickly made his way to the main lecture hall, taking a seat towards the back.

The panel was fascinating, and Anthony felt his old love for academia ignited within his breast. He even caught himself leaning forward on the edge of his seat as he listened to Dr. T'Soni discuss her theories about Prothean religious history, given her experience with the warrior Javik.

It was not really a fair discussion, T'Soni dominated it because she had the experience which made every other Prothean expert jealous: she had known an actual Prothean, fought with him, and even wrote a book with him. However, because Javik had tragically ended his own life shortly after its publication, T'Soni was left as the galaxy's leading authority, and the closest thing left to an actual Prothean.

The other scholars present, a human, two other asari, and a krogan, were interesting but did not have the personal experience. Though the krogan—Professor Vandros—actually drew a lot of interest as well. Krogan academics were an exceptionally rare breed, and the fact that one was present on the panel confused and bewildered the uninitiated, even though he had previously been the field's leading expert before T'Soni's rather unfair usurpation.

The content of the panel had been on the religious response of the Protheans both to the discovery of other sentient life in the galaxy, as well as during their encounter with the Reapers.

Dr. T'Soni spoke after one question, "In my view, the Prothean discovery of other sentient life ended up posing no real threat to their religious lives. They had always assumed that they were the galaxy's apex species, and the discovery of less evolved life forms actually confirmed their suspicions."

The krogan spoke up, "Do you you think it made their religious impulse stronger? Once they realized they were the most advanced society in the galaxy?"

T'Soni replied, "I think it helped. Less is known of their religious beliefs when they were confined to their own planet. But they seemed to take on a notion of divine providence when they spread their wings and conquered other worlds."

Another asari spoke up, "You're saying that they became more religious because they were successful conquerors, so that their religions were influenced by their wars. On the contrary, I argue that their rather violent religions led them to colonize the galaxy more aggressively. Not the other way around."

Dr. T'Soni shook her head, said, "No, I don't think so. Even in our history, it is rare that religions directly inform warfare and conflict. Rather, they're typically used as justification for a war that's usually already underway. I think it was the same with the Protheans."

"What makes them different," the Professor Vandros inserted, "was that their religious impulse seemed to grow stronger after they discovered other species. Whereas in our cycle, most species experienced a weakening of the religious impulse."

The human jumped in, "I don't think it was a weakening in our cultures. I think it was a redirecting. The Protheans directed their passion towards divinely inspired conquest. We redirected our religious impulses from the higher to the lower, to distracting entertainment and pleasurable pastimes. Where they had a love affair with war, we have had one with comfort."

T'Soni again, "Be that as it may, what's interesting to me is that their religious impulse seemed to persist for some time into their war with the Reapers as well. That is unique, as far as I am aware."

"Perhaps it had to do with their conceptions of violence in religion?" asked one of the asari.

Vandros interrupted, "A hyper-religious society often interprets calamity as divine judgment. The Protheans probably interpreted the Reapers as a manifestation of this judgment. The rapidity of the conquest, its unexpected nature, and the utter invincibility of the Reapers, all led them to think that they had run afoul of the divine and brought vengeance on their own heads."

The conversation went on for some time, with every speaker's input fascinating. At length, the panel concluded, and the floor was opened up for questions. Anthony had one ready, and he made his way down the aisle to the front.

"Yes," said the moderator, "to the man on the right."

Anthony raised his hand, said, "Anthony Everest here, Princeton alumnus. Thank you to all of you for coming, this has been a fantastic panel, I've greatly enjoyed it." He looked at the moderator's face, who was silently urging him to actually ask a question. He obliged, "I was curious about the cyclical nature of the Protheans' religion. From my understanding, and from your book Dr. T'Soni, the Protheans believed in a cyclical religion, and even though they relished their position of dominance, they had a fatalistic view about the end of history. Does this cyclical mindset perhaps help explain the persistence of Prothean religion even into the war with the Reapers? In a way, it could almost seem to them like a fulfillment of prophecy."

Vandros spoke first, "That is an interesting proposition, and not one that I had considered. I am not aware of the religious beliefs towards the end of the war, though. Perhaps Dr. T'Soni could enlighten us?"

She obliged, "By the time Javik was born, religion was on the wane for the Protheans, mostly because so many of them had died that the succession of priests and religious leaders had been all but obliterated. But they did maintain a rough version of their earlier beliefs. I think there is some merit to your suggestion."

They discussed it for some time before moving on to another question. But Anthony was okay with that, he had asked what he needed and gotten her attention.

When the panel was dismissed, he went back to the front and approached Dr. T'Soni. A line of people was in front of him, but he bode his time. When it was his turn, he shook the asari's hand and spoke. "Thank you for coming to Princeton, and for talking on this panel. I greatly enjoyed it."

"You're welcome," she replied, "I found it a very enriching experience."

"I was wondering if you perhaps had some more thoughts on the question I asked?"

She began to answer before catching herself and said, "Ah, you're the one who emailed me earlier? Right? I found both your question and your dissertation topic interesting, and I can see now how they overlap. I have a little time to talk after this, would you give me a few minutes?"

He was in.

* * *

They went back to the watering hole where Anthony had waited earlier. Upon entering, Anthony found two comfortable chairs near the fake fire and offered to buy her something. "What's your drink?"

"I don't know human drinks well," she said coolly, "I'll let you decide."

Anthony went to the bar, waited, then asked the bartender, "Do you have any Laphroaig?"

"No. 18," he said, "don't tell anybody."

"I won't," Anthony smiled. "Two, please. One straight and one on the rocks." Silently, he reached down and activated an old recorder in his pocket. A clandestine piece of equipment, it was old, but he could hide it from Dr. T'Soni while talking, which he would not be able to do with his omni tool. The quality of the recording would be poorer, but he could get her to speak with a false sense of security. It may not have been legal in court, but journalists are not lawyers.

He took the tumblers back to his guest and said, "Thank you for meeting with me, Dr. T'Soni. I know you are busy, but I..."

She cut through his sentence and began herself, "It's all right. And please call me Liara. I hate getting that title thrown at me. I don't normally meet with people after these panels, but I saw your resume and was interested. You studied history at Yale?"

"That's right," he said. "I did my undergrad work at Princeton, but I went on to Yale for...graduate work. I," he stumbled slightly, "I...left a few years before the war."

"I had a friend who went there," said Liara, not picking up on his hesitation. "She was an asari, but she loved human culture. She did her doctoral studies at Yale in religious history." She hesitated, said, "It's a shame what happened to the university." But she went on with interest, "My friend was intrigued by the overlap between our siari beliefs and, I think it's called Hin...du? Something about how similar the views of transcendence are."

Anthony was caught a bit off guard, but managed to rally his thoughts. "You'll find a lot of that in human religions. Hindu philosophy and the Para Brahman even bears similarities to Christian conceptions of God as the Ground of All Being."

"I'm sorry, I've distracted you," Liara said with a slight laugh. She leaned back in her chair.

"No, that's all right," Anthony said, "I enjoy these topics. I studied human religions quite a bit, but I don't know much about others."

"Well," said Liara, "I certainly enjoy these topics as well. And it's nice to talk to a historian and not a member of the paparazzi. They always want to know about the war, never about my research. But I don't really do those interviews anymore. This is preferable."

Anthony had an opening, so he went for it. "What do you mean by not doing those interviews anymore?"

"Well," she said, "I don't know if you noticed. But those of us who knew the Commander stopped giving interviews a few years ago. We were just tired of it. I wanted to move on."

"I can see how you'd get tired of it. But it must be hard to move on. Did you find you really wanted to?" He was distracting her successfully. This was going better than he could have hoped.

"Oh, it's hard to explain," she said. "Somehow, the more I talked about Commander Shepard, the further I felt from her. In the years after the war I did interviews every day of the week and twice on Sunday, or at least it felt that way. Everyone wanted to know everything about her. But the more I talked about her life, the more I felt like I was removed from the real person. I fell into a pattern, telling the same stories, talking about the same events, repeating the same conversations. I honestly am not sure if my memories I have of Shepard now are really what happened, or if they're just the stories that I've had to rehearse for the news and for movies. I felt like she was slipping away."

Liara turned away and looked at the fire, casting an askance look at Anthony. "I feel a lot like I don't really know her anymore. It's a feeling that is...upsetting to me."

"Well," said Anthony, "I appreciate you telling me that. It must be hard, but we don't have to talk about her if you don't want to." He was taking a risk here, but he wanted her to feel more comfortable.

"No, it's all right. I actually like to talk about her privately. She was a hero, yes. But she was also my friend."

"What was it like to have Commander Shepard as a friend?" Anthony's strategy was working flawlessly.

"Everyone who knew her felt like she was their best friend. And I don't know whether that says more about us or her, but I think both. So much of the time, we seem to only relate to people for as much as we can get out of them. We might have some genuine friendships, but we are selfish people, and we look at things in terms of connections, benefits, entertainment, or whatever. Even subconsciously, we all do this. I do it."

Anthony nodded along.

"But Shepard wasn't like that. She really, truly cared about everyone around her. She had that rare kind of nobility where she put others interests ahead of her own without even a second thought. By nature she just wanted to help people."

"So she was always willing to go the extra mile?"

"I'm not familiar with this phrase. Is it a human idiom?"

"Sorry, yes. It comes from one our religious figures, probably the most famous one. He once said, 'If anyone forces you to go one mile, go with them two miles'."

Liara nodded her head, said, "Yes, that sums it up well. Everyone who knew Shepard forced her to go a mile with them, and she always, every time, went with them two. I never met a person more concerned with the well being of others."

"Did people take advantage of this trait?"

"Oh, I'm sure. I know people would sometimes ask her for favors because they knew she would do it for them. But I don't think anyone really exploited her. At least, not anyone that knew her. Everyone loved her too much to possibly hurt her that way."

"But at the end, when the Reapers attacked London..."

Liara grimaced and leaned forward, putting her hand to her forehead. "Oh, what am I saying? Of course we exploited her. She died to save the rest of us. If that's not going the extra mile, what is?"

Anthony managed to stutter out a reply, "I'm...I'm sure that she made the choice that she wanted."

"I wish I could believe that, but I don't know. She was so selfless, I feel almost like we made her sacrifice herself sometimes."

Anthony felt cold water pour down his spine. This was not really a casual conversation. Dr. T'Soni had some serious ghosts haunting her.

He began, "She sounds like a truly loving person. We have another saying. 'Greater love has no one than this: to lay down one's life for one's friends'."

Liara tilted her head around and ruminated for a bit. "I don't suppose," she began, drawn out, "that this quote comes from the same source as the first one?"

"It does."

"He sounds like a great man."

"He had many followers."

She set down her tumbler. "What about you? Are you a religious man? Are you like the Protheans?"

Anthony exhaled through his nose, said, "Not really, no. I feel I'd like to be, but I never made the jump."

Liara nodded in agreement. "I feel the same way. I find myself skeptical of any religious claims. It seems...it seems like wish fulfillment. Especially in the aftermath of the war. I could maybe accept the idea that there is a God who created and sustains the universe, but I could not fathom how something like the Reapers and their cycle of destruction could ever be part of a divine plan. It's all too horrid."

"I am stumbled by the same issue."

"But then I find myself sympathetic," Liara continued. "Because as evil as the Reapers were, and as awful as their existence was, somehow the amount of good in the world makes me want to believe in something higher. Shepard made me want to believe. She made me feel this way, whenever I would talk to her."

"I read once that 'Bad is so bad, that we cannot but think good an accident; good is so good, that we feel certain that evil could be explained'. I think I understand what you mean."

"It's true. Shepard was so selfless and so dedicated to doing the right thing, that I feel like I could believe in something like that because of her. I do wish heaven to exist."

Anthony chuckled a bit, "I think we all want that."

"But not for myself," Liara corrected. "I want it for Shepard."

"She did die once before. She was killed after Sovereign's attack on the Citadel. Did she ever... did she ever say anything about that?"

Liara seemed to freeze into some kind of paralysis. She opened her mouth slightly but no words came. She held there for a while, trying to think. At length, she said, "No. She never did. And you know what's even stranger? None of us asked."

Anthony felt a verse come to his mouth again,

"'Where wert thou, brother, those four days?

There lives no record of reply,

Which telling what it is to die'."

"That is quite beautiful. A human poet?"

"Tennyson. He wrote it about Lazarus."

"I know something about Lazarus..." Liara said distantly. She then aimed back at Anthony. "You're just full of quotes, aren't you?"

"I often think I became a historian because I've never had an original thought."

Liara laughed, both in agreement and somewhat derisively. She then maneuvered the conversation back a bit further. "I don't know what I believe about it, but I do hope there is something out there. If anyone deserves eternal reward, it is Jana."

"I'm sorry, 'Jana'?"

"The Commander. Jana Shepard. Her name was Jana."

"Oh, right. Of course. Sorry, I always forget that. I only ever hear her called by her last name. Or 'Commander'."

Liara actually mustered a chuckle at this as well, said, "We used to joke that Commander was her first name. That it must be on her birth certificate, complete with the naval rank and everything."

Anthony offered a bit of a forced laugh and said, "That's funny." He nodded for a second and then asked, "Why do you think that is?"

"I..." began Liara with confidence that dissipated almost immediately. "...You know, I don't know. That's just who she was to us."

"To her crew? It makes sense if she was the Commander to her crew."

"I... I suppose so."

"Was she Jana to anyone in particular?"

"I don't actually remember anyone calling her that. Her mother, I suppose. But I don't know. To be honest, I'm not sure I ever even called her by her first name. Not until now."

"Who was she closest to? On the _Normandy_?"

Liara cocked her eyebrow and let her head fall back, thinking. "Probably Garrus," she said without thinking too deeply on the matter.

"Garrus Vakarian? The turian? Interesting."

"What's interesting?"

"I don't know. I guess I just assumed..."

"Don't let your imagination get the best of you," she added somewhat hastily.

Anthony was unaware of where this trepidation suddenly came from, but elected not to press on the matter, at least not now. He had to play his cards right or this could be the last interview he would get on the Commander.

"Moving on," he began, "I wanted to ask about..."

Liara was suddenly suspicious. "Moving on..." she muttered.

Anthony instinctively put his hand in his pocket and fingered the recorder to make sure it was on. It was a subtle maneuver, but Liara noticed it.

Her eyes narrowed to slits. "You're recording me, aren't you?" she asked.

Anthony was struck dumb. "No, I..."

"You're the same Anthony Everest who works for the New Memorial Times," she said. It was phrased like a question, but it was said like a statement.

Liara sighed, "All you damn reporters. You're always so devious and sinister. I should've checked my sources more closely. Somehow I didn't connect the dots. I assumed you were someone different from the hack at the Times."

Anthony flinched, then tried to defend himself, said, "Look, I'm sorry. I just wanted to get some information on the Commander for a piece I'm writing. That's all. It's nothing sinister."

"Don't get any funny ideas," she said to him. "About what I said about the Commander."

"I... I wasn't."

Liara was a bit unnerved, said, "It's none of your business, really." She seemed somewhat panicked. She looked around like she was plotting an escape.

"Please, Liara," said Anthony, "I just wanted to ask a few questions. Maybe if you could put me in contact with one of your colleagues I could also..."

She interrupted him, "Of course. Your motives are pure. I get it." She looked at him angrily, "But this interview is over."

"I'm sorry I tricked you, please, I just wanted to talk about her and I couldn't find another way to do it." He was pleading.

Liara was disgusted, but simply muttered flatly, "If you really want to talk to someone about the Commander, I'll set something up for you. But I'm done here."

"Oh," stuttered Anthony, "Uh, sure. Let me just..."

Liara rose to her feet and shouldered her bag. "Thank you for your conversation. I enjoyed it." Anthony honestly could not tell if she was being truthful or sarcastic. There was acid to her words, but she also seemed to have actually enjoyed it. He had no idea.

"I also enjoyed it," enjoined Anthony, adding hastily, "Can I ask you..." he began, but Liara was already bolting out of the den. "Thank you!" he called after her.

She sighed and hung her shoulders as she left the room. She was angry, but she had been defeated.

He sat down to collect his thoughts. It was a start at least. And there was a potential avenue to pursue. There was something about the relationship between Shepard and Garrus that made Liara sensitive. He would have to tread lightly.

She was not happy about him lying to her. Of course she wasn't. But that was a risk he had to take, and it had paid off spectacularly. He had caught her in a moment of weakness, and she alluded to something that she wanted to keep secret. He had enough now that she—and the rest of the crew—could not ignore. His next move would be his most important.

* * *

**References:**

"Go with them two miles..." - Matthew 5:41

"Greater love has no one than this..." - John 15:13

"Bad is so bad..." - _The Man Who Was Thursday_, GK Chesterton

"Where wert thou, brother?..." - _In Memoriam_, Alfred, Lord Tennyson


	3. Chapter 3

**Thank you to those of you who followed and/or favorited this story thus far. I look forward to hearing any thoughts, comments, critiques, or suggestions that you may have. This story arc is proving a bit more challenging than anticipated.  
**

* * *

Walter Kenny would be enthused by the information Anthony had compiled. However, Anthony was well aware that the entire interview would have been a bust were it not for Liara's ambiguous comments at the end. He needed to know more. Was there something worth reporting on between Shepard and Garrus? Anthony felt a bit sleazy pursuing that angle, but if it would get him support and funding to do these interviews, than so be it. It's not like he was trying to uncover anything salacious. He just wanted to know what Shepard was like. At least, that is what he told himself.

He needed more to substantiate it though. An off-the-cuff comment made at a moment of dropped guard wouldn't be enough. He would need to follow up on that. But the important thing was that he had gotten something. And Liara could not ignore him. A journalist with that kind of tidbit could make all kinds of trouble, and so she—if she was really trying to protect Shepard—would need to nip it in the bud. She could not ignore Anthony now, but she could defeat him. As such, the next interview would be the most important one. He would need to get more substance, and whoever he talked to would need to quash his curiosity. There was no coincidence that Liara set him up to talk to Miranda Lawson.

* * *

Anthony took a transport across the earth to meet with Ms. Lawson, who made her temporary residence in Beijing, while working for a large military contractor. She was rarely on earth, so this was another convenient coincidence for Anthony. He had not earned enough good will or funds to travel off world yet, but he could at least justify flying across the earth.

Or, at least, partially justify it. He was only able to persuade Walter to give him the cheapest seats possible on a transport normally reserved for freight. It would be an uncomfortable ride.

He double over in his stone hard seat, trying not to think about the sudden jerks and movements the shuttle was making. As primarily a freighter, it did not have any real need for the inertial dampeners that mass effect fields made possible. A pilot, co-pilot, and small maintenance staff were all that was needed. The cargo was simply tied down in the fuselage. Even old tech was superfluous in the face of good, old-fashioned rope.

The engineer present sat down in the seat across the small aisle and laughed at Anthony. He managed to choke down his chortling and then asked, "Never flown in a real bird before, have you?"

Anthony, face white and knuckles clenched onto the armrest, was only able to shake his head "no."

"You get used to it after a while," said the engineer. "First, it feels crazy. But then, after a few trips, you're able to drink. Even have a beer."

Anthony was feeling queasier.

"Then, after that, you can even eat mid-flight."

That was enough. Anthony wrenched forward and put his head between his legs. Count to ten. Count to three... too late...

He vomited on the floor between his legs.

The engineer sighed, shook his head, and then got up. He walked with the alacrity of a drunk man towards the front of the shuttle, and informed the pilot. "Our guest just spewed all over the floor."

"What do you want me to do about it?" the pilot asked.

"Listen to me complain?"

"Quit bitching and clean it up," said the pilot back.

"Yeah, all right." The engineer came back with a warm towel and some cloth to wipe it up. He put the towel on Anthony's head. Anthony took a deep breath and tried to steady himself. He actually did feel a little better.

"You office-types," said the engineer derisively. "Always so weak in the stomach. You've probably never worked a day in your life. Not real work. Just sitting at a desk all day, writing messages and answering calls. Sounds like hell. No one asked me, but, well, I'd rather work a hundred years in a dockyard than one in an office."

Athony, though unable to speak, silently agreed with the man. His office was the place where his will went to die. Still, he managed a few words. "It's not...that... bad."

The engineer laughed. "Yeah, sure it isn't."

"Once I get this story done, things will be different for me."

The engineer nodded, said, "Whatever you say."

The remainder of the flight, Anthony spent his time trying desperately not to throw up again.

* * *

Anthony had never been so thankful for solid ground. Stepping off the shuttle, he nearly fell down the ladder and only barely managed to avoid hurting himself. He sunk to his knees and then took a deep breath.

The cackling of the engineer was behind him, but Anthony no longer cared. He spent a few minutes regaining his composure before finally taking his feet and then hailing a cab. He got inside the small shuttle, and rejoiced when he it took off without any of the G forces that had previously afflicted him. He was actually able to enjoy himself as he sailed through the city on that sleek, bullet-like transport and looked down on the city beneath him.

He had never experienced a city as bustling or teeming with life as Beijing, and he had been to New York before it was destroyed. The sheer scale of the place, the throngs of people, the population density, was all jarring to him. He felt the weight of human existence pushing down on him. New Angeles had been destroyed and rebuilt, but Beijing had risen from the ashes like a phoenix.

He made his way to the agreed upon meeting place, and was dismayed to find out that the building in front of him was Ms. Lawson's office. He had hoped to meet somewhere more amenable to friendly discussion, but her icy reputation preceded her, and he knew to expect stiff formality at best. He went inside, took the lift up several flows, and then greeted her secretary with a smile. He had only to wait there a few minutes before she summoned him.

What he did not expect was the sheer stunning attractiveness of the woman who greeted him. Just a few seconds into greeting her, he felt that focusing on her eyes was possibly the most herculean task he had ever undertaken.

"Mr. Everest," she began in a distinct accent. "Please, have a seat."

He believed that he said, "Nice to meet you." He was not thinking anything along those lines. He had seen her on the vids before, of course, but he was still not prepared for the onslaught on his senses she was inflicting on him.

He would hesitate to call her beautiful. Surely that was true in a literal sense, but she appeared to him simply as raw sexuality, without the subtlety or the gentleness he associated with beauty. Like an engine that was all power and no nuance. Fantasies of her topless would no doubt nourish the midday reveries of angsty teenage boys the world over, but she would likely not function as a muse for a serious artist looking to capture the ineffability of beauty in a painting.

Nevertheless, he really wanted to look at her breasts.

She sat down behind her desk and it was with simultaneous relief and dismay that Anthony realized the table obscured her more feminine characteristics. He could not be sure, but he felt that blood was beginning to circulate through his brain again.

"What can I do for you?" she asked.

"I'm researching a possible historical piece on Commander Shepard, and I thought—"

"Yes, so you told Dr. T'Soni. She told me."

"Right," he said, trying to hold his ground, "so I've been wanting to ask about the Commander and some of your experiences with her and I—"

"I'll say it again. You told Liara. She told me. I know why you're here, yes? There is no need for formalities. Please, ask your questions. I am very busy."

Anthony felt three feet high, sinking into his chair. This was not going to be easy. Her iron eyes bored into him. He had to muster something fast. What was the first question he had prepared? He could not remember, but his reflexes began to ask for him when his brain failed. Fortunately, his mouth asked an interesting question right off the bat.

"Dr. T'Soni told me that she never called the Commander by her first name. She said that this was common on the _Normandy_. Is that true? Did you ever call her by her first name?" A great question! He congratulated his mouth for asking it.

"I don't have a habit of calling my commanding officers by their first names."

Defeat. He weakly began, "So after all that time—"

"Do you call your editor by his first name?"

"Actually, I do..." he began, thinking of Walter.

Miranda huffed slightly. "You must have no experience in the military. Chain of command and all that. You know—rules. The Commander ran a tight ship."

He could see where this was going. "So, no one was close to the Commander, then?"

Miranda's steel gaze burned holes in his face. He would see if she would go down this path or if she would resist. She needed to dispel his notion about the Commander and Garrus, but she also needed to not appear too defensive on the issue.

"You journalists," she began. "You're all the same. You present yourself under the guise of a historian. A serious scholar. Someone with an academic interest in Shepard's life. But you're really just a muckraker. Looking for something you can sensationalize to make a few splashes in the media, get some advertisements, raise your profile." She raised from her chair and leaned forward. Anthony fought hard to lock onto her eyes and not let his drift south. This was not a fair strategy, from his perspective.

"Am I right?" she asked.

"You're pretty defensive," he offered meekly.

"I defend people I care about," she said flatly. "From people who have no interest in anything but tearing down those who are better than them."

"So you were close to the Commander?" Anthony asked. He had got her!

Miranda's eyes finally disengaged from his and she looked down. She slouched back in her chair and leaned back. "She saved my sister's life," she began. "She saved my life. Hell, I didn't even like her at first. And she went and did that for me."

Anthony sat and waited. He had heard about this.

"She wasn't like everyone else," Miranda stated simply. "If there were more people like her, the world would be better for it."

"In what way?"

"There would be fewer people like you," she said with venom. Her eyes then drifted down, and she started dragging her hand across the back of a chair. Her hesitation spoke volumes to Anthony, she likely felt some of the same guilt that had plagued Liara after Shepard's death.

There were identifiable chinks in Miranda's armor now. If he could probe more, ask some strategic questions, he might get something interesting. Shepard's death brought out guilt. Just as it had with Liara.

"It is a tragedy," he said, trying his best to sound sincere.

"The tragedy is that it takes the death of a good person to rescue the lives of so many terrible ones."

"Are you referring to me again?"

She squinted at him. Her posture said yes but her eyes said no. Again, she seemed to be speaking just as much about herself as about him.

"It always seems like the good ones die too young. 'Why do the wicked prosper, growing old and powerful?'" recited Anthony.

"Hiding behind quotes," Miranda accused. "Though it's a question I wonder about." She turned to her right and walked a few paces, seemingly moving around trying to find a position of physical dominance to reinforce her words. Anthony elected to sit still, hoping to make her uncomfortable. "It's a very poetical notion, the death of a beautiful, young woman," she said.

"Poe thought so," Anthony supplied in response to the notion. "Though I think he meant that the death of a beautiful woman was the most melancholy thing to write about, and the words of her lover would be just as melancholic. I don't think he meant it about a heroic death."

"You don't think Shepard satisfies this criteria?"

"I guess I think more of her as a noble hero than as a beautiful woman dying."

Miranda cut him off. "Right, she wasn't beautiful," she said with a smirk that managed to seem depressed. "Not to you."

"No, no. I didn't mean—" Or did he? Surely he hadn't just said what it sounded like he said.

She turned and walked to the back of her office, stood still for a moment and peered out of the window. To his discomfort, Anthony found this view to be just as distracting as looking at her from the front.

"All men I've ever known have thought the same thing. Beauty to them is nothing more than a woman's physical appearance. Whether a woman is beautiful or not depends wholly on her body and nothing else." She turned her head over her shoulder and looked at him. "So, for you, Shepard was not beautiful. Because she did not have cartoonishly oversized breasts, her hair wasn't styled like a model's, she wore no make up, and donned bulky combat armor instead of a metal plated bikini."

Anthony wanted to disagree but found he could not.

Miranda turned around and faced Anthony directly. "In your mind, I bet, she wasn't a woman. Not really. She was just the Commander. It always seemed to me that men only treat women as they treat themselves when they find them too ugly to be considered women. It's a paradox, because ugly woman are often the only women treated like people, but just as often their existence is completely ignored."

It was true that Anthony never considered the Commander attractive. He had not formulated such thoughts before, but he found these feelings drawn out in front of him. It occurred to him at that moment that he always felt an indescribable rage at women who made no effort to be attractive. As though they owed it to him to be pleasant to his eye, and had failed to uphold their end of the deal. This realization made him feel bitterly guilty.

"I'm sorry," Anthony said, "I didn't mean—"

"Shepard was a beautiful woman," Miranda said pointedly. "But she was also beautiful in a fuller, deeper sense. She loved her friends, she even loved people she never met. She did everything she could to help others. She had..." she paused, looking for words. "She had a merciful heart."

Anthony nodded in agreement.

"Commander Shepard was a figurehead, a symbol, a beacon of hope. But behind that visage and under that armor there was a beautiful woman. Her name was Jana."

He felt he could actually look at Miranda without the animal lust that had plagued him when he first saw her. He did not know what to say, but his mouth allowed words to escape regardless. "I wish I could have known her."

"Those who did were lucky."

He had so many things he wanted to ask now. So many questions that need answering. But it was not to be.

"Please," Miranda said suddenly as she approached his chair. "I must get back to work. Thank you for your time."

"But," Anthony began, "I wanted to ask about the Commander and her relationship to the crew."

"I believe we already discussed this," said Miranda.

"Was there anyone she was particularly close to?"

"I already told you," she said with irritation, "she ran a tight ship. There was nothing unprofessional about Shepard."

"Not even with..."

"Why do you keep asking the same question expecting a different answer?"

"Liara seemed defensive about Garrus and..."

Miranda interrupted again. "You ambushed Liara, lied to her, and then recorded her in secret. She was surprised and not speaking accurately, which she confessed to me. I would hardly quote anything she said to you in that interview. You're grasping at straws. Now, go on back to your little news camp and leave me and the rest of us alone. This is the last interview you will get."

She offered her hand to Anthony and, stunned, he shook it once before her secretary arrived and whisked him out the door. He did not even have time to process what happened. But the interview was over.

He stood outside on a Beijing sidestreet. His quest was over. He had not gotten anything substantial. Miranda had thrown up a dozen kind of smokescreens and had successfully distracted him with questions about Shepard's appearance.

But he felt there was more to it. What she said was true. And she spoke with passion. And, just like Liara had, when pressed to the point of emotional compromise, she called Commander Shepard by her given name. Despite her cold demeanor, Anthony felt that Miranda really had wanted to talk about Shepard, but kept herself from doing so for some undisclosed reason. Just as Liara had.

But he was without the information he needed. This was the end of the road. They New Memorial Times would not continue to fund his travels if he came up empty handed like this. He had scratched the surface of an iceberg it seemed, but he did not have anything left to go on.

Weary, he decided he needed a stiff, strong drink. He did not want to go back to New Angeles just yet.

* * *

**References:**

"**Why do the wicked prosper..." - Job 21:7**

"**The death of a beautiful woman..." - **_**Philosophy of Composition**_**, ********Edgar Allen Poe**_**  
**_


End file.
